EPHEMERAL FOOTPRINTS
by Turretwithaview
Summary: Writer Richard Castle is incognito on the island. The playboy persona left behind in Manhattan, the real McCoy carefully unpacked along with his suitcase. A month away from the glitz and glam to recharge batteries, clear his mind of all but the essentials … (just a bit of fluff someone asked me for, and I daren't deny them lol).
1. Chapter 1 - Sunset

Chapter 1 – Sunset

* * *

The bungalow stood back amongst the palm trees, nestled between the softly waving fronds and only a few steps from the turquoise sea gently eddying up the white coral sand of the beach. Rick stretched out on the sunbed, whiskey in hand and crossed his feet, allowing the pleasant breeze coming off the water to cool his brow. The sun was already sinking westwards, tinging the horizon in pale orange and dusting the bottom of the distant clouds with pink.

In another hour it would be dark, or as dark as a brilliantly clear night-sky full of stars allowed. He set the glass down on the decking and placed his hands behind his head, taking a deep breath and sucking in the peacefulness surrounding him.

Yesterday had been the usual, exciting, hyperactive transition from crazy civilization to peaceful backwater. JFK had been wet, crowded, and chaotic, the six hour flight to the main island airport his first chance to begin the winding down. By the time he'd climbed aboard the Cessna along with two other passengers for the short, island-hopping flight to the sun-drenched airfield, New York and winter were left far behind.

The dusty drive along rutted tracks as he followed the 'coastal road' helped his shoulders to lose the tension of a month-long book tour and the increasingly grating presence of Gina, publisher and ex-wife; two devils rolled into one. It wasn't a drive he'd want to make every day nor in the middle of an island storm, but the island road, one moment running out along a headland offering unobstructed views of the rolling blue Atlantic waves reaching out to the distant horizon, the next diving into groves of palms which swayed and whispered with the breeze was one he'd been enjoying once a year for the last three years.

Now he could just sit back and unwind for the next few days, he was stocked up with supplies until the weekend, the fuel tanks for the generator were full and the lack of phone and internet meant the world could come to an end and he wouldn't know … not unless Alexis or his Mother contacted Pierre, the island's policeman and convinced him to come out and warn Castle. He grinned to himself, it would take a lot to get Pierre out of his air-conditioned office and have him drive halfway round the Island to this little spot of paradise …

He swirled the last of the whiskey and melting ice around the bottom of the glass and swung off the sunbed, pushing himself up onto his feet and heading indoors for a refill. Walking back out, he noted the sun had already turned from white to yellow, casting a deeper orange glow along the horizon, while overhead, the purple of evening slowly drew its veil across the blue of the tropical sky and an almost translucent moon made its first, timid appearance.

A few local fishing boats stood out starkly against the setting sun, like charcoal etchings on a Monet canvas. The sea was taking on the colour of molten brass, and the sand slowly turning from white to blueish grey, the regular wash of white, frothing foam adding to the contrast.

His attention was caught by a distant figure wondering along the beach, a darker silhouette against the golden sea, face hidden by the sun setting behind. He squinted and raised a hand to shade his eyes. Whoever it was, probably came from one of the other bungalows along this side of the island, a few, like the one he was staying in, isolated and standing alone, others bunched together in groups of three or four.

His eyes shifted back to the sun, the orange disk almost touching the sea, a shimmering path stretching towards him, whilst far out, the first of the lights began to appear on the fishing boats, green to starboard, red to port and the white lights closer to the surface, hoping to draw the evening's catch towards the nets. He turned his attention back to the figure that was now that much closer. He still couldn't make out details, but the walk, the shoes or sandals held in one hand, the wrap which did little to hide the slim figure … the walker was obviously female and though his curiosity was piqued, he was still on his first day of winding down, so he offered no more than a wave as the figure walked past.

She returned his gesture, almost hesitatingly and then she was past him, feet leaving dark prints in the sand behind her, prints which were barely laid before the next onrush of foaming water gently swept over them and on pulling back left only faint indentations behind. By the time the next gentle surge rushed its way up the beach and then fell back, her prints had all but been washed away. There was something poetic … and unsettling about the thought. He turned his head back towards her, a tall, slim figure walking away along the beach into purple darkness.

He turned back to the sun, watched as the last of the orange orb sank below the surface, casting a warm glow up into the slowly darkening sky. Within minutes, daylight was gone and the first of the stars began to glint overhead, the moon gaining strength even as her heavenly consort's lessened.

With a sigh, he stood up and made his way back to the bungalow, turning on gas lights and pulling the fridge open to see what he could prepare for dinner. Sausages and a baked potato he decided, pulling out some butter and herbs for the dressing and hanging a second gas light on the hook above the kitchen island to give himself more light. He could of course use the electrical lights which ran off the geny, but he preferred the Robinson Crusoe effect of gas lamps and moonlight through the windows.

He grabbed the potato, cut crosswise into it and placed it on a piece of foil before sprinkling a bit of oil and sea salt over it. He added a sprig of fresh rosemary, wrapped the potato in the foil and placed it along with the sausages and herb butter on a plate before carrying it out onto the deck and setting it down by the barbeque. He returned to the fridge, pulled out a beer and headed back outside

Soon the charcoal was glowing bright red and he placed the potato on the grill, covering the sausages and moving to the front of the deck where he leant on the wooden balustrade and watched the bobbing lights of the fishing boats out to sea.

Tomorrow he'd go round to see if his friend Bembe had any fresh fish. Supplies on the islands were limited at best and the two steaks he'd bought on the main island would have to do him until he sent his shopping list back with Harry, the owner of the Cessna, who not only organised the island-hopping flights and tourist trips, but also ran a shopping service.

The sizzling of the oil in the foil … he had to grin at the unintended rhyme … drew his attention back to the grill and he turned the potato over before adding the sausages. He twisted the top off the beer and took a sip, turning the sausages as they began to brown. Cooking by gas light was a little hit-and-miss, the difference between well-done and charcoaled being a thin line.

The moon was well up by the time he settled down at the table, a second beer in his hand and the steaming potato melting the large knob of butter and herbs. The onshore breeze had picked up a little, rustling the palm leaves above and making the gaslights hiss and from the dark groves behind the bungalow, he could make out the mating calls of the tree frogs.

Pushing the empty plate away, he settled against the chair and tilted his head back to gaze up at the sky. He rarely got to see such a sight, a myriad stars speckling the firmament and the moon as clear as he'd ever seen it, slowly moving up and westwards over the sea, painting a cool, silvery path towards the shore.

He wished Alexis was already here, but she still had another week of school left and then the field trip. She wouldn't be joining him for another two weeks almost. With a sigh he pushed himself up, gathered the plate and empty beer bottle and carried them indoors. He checked the barbeque was well and truly out and began to turn of the gas lamps, silently apologising to the moths and bugs fluttering around them.

He entered the bathroom, switched on the electric light over the sink, brushed his teeth and rubbed a hand over his face. The organised chaos of leaving, the flights and the fresh air were taking their toll; he could barely keep his eyes open. Switching off the light, he entered the bedroom, stripped and climbed into bed, pulling the mosquito netting around him. Within minutes he was asleep.

* * *

 _ **AN: Always like to know what you think, so reviews are welcome :)**_


	2. Chapter 2 - Sunrise

Chapter 2 – Sunrise

* * *

Kate Beckett was a little annoyed; a little annoyed at herself, a little annoyed at the diving instructor and a little annoyed at Maddie … well, more than a little annoyed at her! It had been Maddie who had talked her into it, two weeks on a small paradisiacal island to get away from the winter grime and grunt of New York, to give herself a break after the last, exhausting case that had left them all a little sickened and downhearted.

A client of hers had offered Maddie the bungalow and all they had to do was pay for their tickets and expenses. Right now Espo was probably lording it over the bullpen, taking over her desk and her job … well, ok, he wouldn't do that she had to regretfully admit, though the thought had helped to work up her annoyance.

The first couple of days had been extraordinary; she'd slept in till the sun forced her awake. Then the two of them had spent the day swimming and boating and drinking and catching up on all the sordid details of their lives … well Maddie's to be more precise, Kate's life was sordid enough, but not in the way that would add to a cheerful conversation. Then Maddie had suggested taking some diving lessons and next thing, Octavio, their instructor was spending more time diving into Maddie's bed than into the incredibly blue sea outside.

Paper-thin walls made for uncomfortable company, despite their attempts to be discreet about it, so Kate had taken to walking. The last two days had been enjoyable as she walked first in one direction and then in the other along the quiet beaches, enjoying the rustling of the sea over creamy-white sand, the feel of water rushing about her ankles, over her feet and between her toes, the feel of the sea breeze blowing her hair about her and kissing her warm skin with coolness.

She couldn't decide which were the more enjoyable, the early morning walks with the sun rising over the horizon, burnishing the sea in gold and slowly pushing back the darkness and shadows to discover seashells protruding from the sand, floating coconuts nudging the water's edge and half-hidden bungalows nestling against the backdrop of palm trees, or the evening walks which seemed to be a reversal of the mornings; the sun sinking below the horizon and slowly drawing a cloak of darkness over the land before the fanfare of glittering stars filled the sky above.

But today, the novelty was beginning to wear off and she was seriously thinking of heading back to the main island, maybe check into one of the few hotels and see what the local day and nightlife had to offer; it couldn't be any worse than the muffled creaking of the bed and half stifled moans she was currently being entertained with!

Seagulls flew over the rocks that pushed their way into the sea as she rounded the headland and Kate watched the flickering reflections of their bodies as they skimmed the water, swerving and then climbing away into the pale blue sky, their lonely mews echoing in the silence.

Not that it was really silent she corrected herself; the rustle of the sea washing over the sand, the gentle whisper of palm fronds in the early morning breeze, the distant throb of a two-stroke diesel on one of the fishing boats out to sea … no it wasn't exactly silent, but compared to the streets of her city, this was blissfully quiet.

She could make out the bungalow she'd passed the evening before, the early morning sun dancing off the windows and coating them in gold. It had been too dark to make out much about the man who had offered her a casual wave, the setting sun had lent an orange tone to the windows behind him, but there hadn't been enough light to make out his features other than a thick mop of hair and wide shoulders framed against the glow of the windows.

She stopped to pick up a shell, its opalescence catching the early morning's rays and glinting enticingly at her. She rinsed it in the next swirl of water rushing up the beach and straightening was surprised to see the large figure walk out onto the decking at the front of the bungalow. She hesitated, unsure as to why, watched him stretch and rub his hands through his hair. He hadn't spotted her yet, was looking out to sea at the sun already beginning its climb its away up from the skyline, laying down a glittering path which reached from the very shore to the distant cumulus nimbus clouds skimming the horizon.

He turned and she felt heat rising up her neck as he caught her staring, not that she was close enough to be blatant about it but it jolted her into movement and she ducked her head, hoping her hair would hide the colour she could feel burning her cheeks. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he paused, turned back towards her and leant his hands on the wooden balustrade running round the deck. She was sure he was grinning … or maybe smiling might be more accurate. She kept her head down, watching her feet sink into the sand as she walked, felt the water gurgling round her, washing sand over her toes and enjoying the slight sinking sensation as it seeped sand from under her at each step.

Kate counted twenty steps before surreptitiously throwing an upwards glance, hoping he'd turned and gone back inside. No luck! He was still watching her as she approached, leaning his arms on the wooden rail and definitely smiling in her direction. There was something vaguely familiar about him, about the silhouette, but she lowered her eyes again, watching her shadow chasing her feet, lifting her head and looking out to sea as half a dozen gulls dived, squawking towards the surface, some piece of flotsam or an incautious fish catching their attention.

Two of them were on the water, noisily squabbling over something, the others had turned away, wings sweeping just clear of the surface as they skimmed the gentle rollers and headed back towards the headland. She chanced another glance at the deck, now no more than a hundred paces away and was both pleased … and slightly disappointed to find it empty. He must have turned and gone back in while she was watching the quarrelling seagulls.

She paused as a cowry shell caught her eye and bent to pick it up, taking a step towards the water to rinse it before straightening up and studying her find. The brown and cream mottled carapace looked drab next to the abalone from before, but there was something sleek about the shiny shell which she liked, the serrated opening looking like one of her smiling felons across the interview table, all teeth and no humour. She chuckled at her somewhat crazy analogy and threw a quick glance at the bungalow, if he heard her he'd probably assume she was nuts!

 _Pull yourself together Kate!_ She admonished herself, his wife or girlfriend was probably still in bed … though he'd been alone on the deck when she'd walked past last night on her way back to the bungalow she and Maddie were staying at. Maybe he was alone … _or gay_ added the ever-present voice at her shoulder … well, ok, it was in her head, but ever since the Tom and Jerry cartoon she'd watched as a child, she had a picture of an evil little Kate in a red devil's outfit perched on her shoulder. Unfortunately, the counterpart in the angel's outfit rarely made an appearance!

Her contemplations were cut short as the object of her musings reappeared on the deck, tray in hand and made his way to the table. She quickly ducked her head again, unwilling to get caught staring a second time with only about twenty steps separating them.

A breath of wind blew in off the sea, rustling the palm leaves and blowing her hair across her face and she turned it towards the horizon, brushing her hair aside and pulling loose a strand that had somehow found its way across her mouth. She could feel the summer dress clinging to her legs, felt the next wave tumble onto the beach a little more energetically, rushing up past her and soaking the lower edges of the white material, felt her feet sink slightly as it swept back out, taking miniscule grains of sand with it.

She sidestepped up the beach a little and tried to ignore the wooden steps no more than a few feet away as she continued her walk, tried to ignore the looming presence above her that she could sense rather than see, tried to ignore the eyes she could feel watching her … tried to ignore the desire to turn and glance up …

Tried to … until the voice above her asked, "Could I offer you a coffee?"


	3. Chapter 3 - Coffee

Chapter 3 – Coffee

* * *

Rick Castle stretched as he contemplated the rising sun, squinting as the glinting surface of the sea caught his still sleepy eyes. He felt the breeze ruffle his hair and ran his hands over it in a futile attempt to comb it down. He felt relaxed for perhaps the first time since the book tour had got underway. Perhaps the absence of Paula and Gina had something to do with that, he thought in wry amusement. In the distance he could just make out the blue and white hull of a local fishing boat, the uneven put-put of the engine carrying over the calm water. It reminded him of his intention to go round and visit Bembe, maybe he'd have some fresh shellfish for him, or one of those sea bass he'd enjoyed so much last time he'd been on the island.

He'd turned and been about to head indoors when the figure halfway along the beach caught his attention. He couldn't be sure, but something about the lithe form seemed familiar and he also got the impression she'd been watching him, though she was now walking slowly towards him, head bowed. He moved to the balustrade, set his hands on the still cool wood and watched her approach, he couldn't be sure, but he had the feeling she was last night's beach walker.

Her face was partially in shadow, caramel blonde hair falling over what little he could see of it, a simple white cotton dress failing to hide the slim figure underneath and something about the walk made him stop to watch. It wasn't the slinking catwalk stride that always looked so artificial to him, though he had no problems in envisioning her on one … no, it was a confident stride, one which made a statement, despite her bare-footedness and the slightly sloping beach which could always ruin the best of walks. He leant his elbows on the wooden rail, admiring the vision in white who was now that much closer.

He couldn't be certain, but he thought she'd just thrown him a glance from under her hair, but then again, he could have been wrong, she was back to watching her feet and the sudden squawking of some seagulls out to sea made them both turn to look. He twisted his head back to watch her watching the gulls, her profile suddenly clear to him and he quickly pushed himself up and headed inside the bungalow.

Rick had already started the coffee percolating before going out onto the terrace and he now quickly poured the contents into a cup and prepared a second one. It was one of those Moka pots that you filled with water in the bottom half and added to ground coffee to the filter before screwing both halves together and sticking it on the stove to percolate. He cursed as he almost burnt himself, the towel he'd used to unscrew the two halves having slipped a little.

With the coffee on the simmer he set out a tray and a couple of cups, added the sugar bowl and the carton of milk from yesterday and glanced out through the window. He could make her out much closer now, bending down to retrieve something from the sand and then stepping closer to the water's edge to rinse it.

By the time she resumed her walking, the coffee was gurgling in the pot and he lifted it off the heat, tipping the lid open and checking the amount. He poured the first cup back into the top of the pot and added it to the tray before carrying it out and placing it on the table. A sudden puff of wind blew in off the sea and he watched as she turned her face towards it, sweeping her hair back off her brow, the dress clinging to her body and giving him an almost perfect picture of long legs and jutting breasts. Moments later she had resumed her walk and was now almost level with the bungalow, steadfastly ignoring him. He couldn't help the grin as he leant on the rail and called out, "Could I offer you a coffee?"

He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but as she came to a stop and turned to face him, he felt his jaw drop. He'd been sure she was attractive despite having really only seen her clearly in profile, but as she looked upwards, eyes wide in surprise and lip caught between her teeth, he felt the air rush out of his lungs. A part of his brain, a very small part, suggested he could find fault in her, but the rest of his brain could only drink in the large eyes, the curved lashes, the glimpse of white teeth clamped over red lips, the shoulder-length hair with golden highlights catching the morning rays and softening the pronounced cheekbones, the small mole just north of the jawline which added just the right amount of imperfection to perfection. Standing there below him was his vision of paradise.

There was a flash of something in her eyes, surprise, astonishment, recognition perhaps? It was there and gone, a widening of eyes, dilating pupils, raised eyebrows, then there was colour flooding her neck, adding blush to her cheeks and he could already see the hesitation taking over, the doubt clouding her eyes.

He did the only thing he could, walking quickly down the wooden steps till he was standing before her, looking down and hearing her breath hitch, watching as her mouth opened slightly and her teeth released her lip. "It's freshly made … and I hate having breakfast alone!" Suddenly he felt like an idiot, a dork asking the prom queen for a dance, a fleeting image of Homer Simpson on Jeopardy flashed into his mind …

Maybe it was his pleading expression, maybe it was just his puppy dog eyes which he knew were killers, maybe it was just the offer of coffee, whatever it was, he caught the hesitation changing to amusement, the lip once again being incarcerated by the teeth … he felt the urge to pull it free and kiss it to oblivion … and perhaps he shouldn't have thought that because his face must have shown his intention and suddenly she was taking a step back, hand coming up in disconcerted defence and he became aware of his head having tilted forwards slightly, so he pulled back, took a deep breath and tried to get his brain back into first gear, dropping his head and mumbling a barely audible 'sorry'.

A quick glance back up at her face showed him a kaleidoscope of emotions; surprise, speculation, amusement … luckily no disgust and he allowed himself to breathe again. "Maybe I should start again," he said, sheepishly holding out his hand and adding "Hi, I'm Rick".

Her hand went from defensive, to hesitant, to moving to meet his. It felt tiny inside his large hand, yet firm, confident, a slight callousness to the tip of the index finger he'd speculate about later, right now he needed to get her and those incredibly hazel eyes up onto the deck. "Hi, I'm Kate" she said in a soft, slightly amused voice, her hand still engulfed in his and just in time he remembered to release it.

He waved his hand up the steps and offering a little bow asked "Can I tempt you to some freshly made coffee and maybe some fruit, or toast … or a barbequed rib eye steak?"

There was a gurgle of laughter and then she nodded to him, moving up the steps and throwing over her shoulder a "Coffee's fine for the moment, thanks!"

He grinned at the 'for the moment' wondering if she was aware of how promising that sounded to him, tried to keep his eyes off her swaying hips as she climbed the steps and quickly followed her up onto the deck, pulling out one of the rattan chairs and indicating she should take a seat. Picking up the pot he poured coffee into one of the cups and raising an enquiring eyebrow asked "Milk? Sugar?"

"Just some milk please," said in a pleasantly familiar accent, not bridge and tunnel, no trace of the boroughs, probably Manhattan. He tried to keep his excitement down.

He added a small amount of milk from the carton, checked with her to see if it was ok and then set the cup on the saucer and handed it to her before pouring his own plain black coffee, dumping a couple of spoons of sugar into it and sitting down.

"Well Kate, welcome to my humble abode … and I hope you'll excuse my somewhat bumbling efforts just now, I wasn't expecting to find such an attractive woman walking past at this time of day" he said with a grin, raising his cup in a sort of toast and suddenly wondering if she was alone, or on the island with a husband, a boyfriend, a partner …


	4. Chapter 4 - Books

Chapter 4 – Books

* * *

Looking up at him, Kate could feel the heat rising up her neck and tried desperately to form a coherent sentence. Unfortunately the sight of Richard Castle grinning down at her, chest showing through his unbuttoned shirt, hair falling over his brow, blue eyes sparkling had her tongue-tied. All she could think was _its Richard Frikking Castle! o_ ver and over.

Suddenly realising she was acting like a star-struck teen … or worse still, a clueless idiot, she tried frantically to come up with a coherent reply. A series of them flashed through her mind, each sounding worse than the previous … and then he was almost rushing down the wooden steps, standing in front of her, invading her space …. and she was still looking up at him, at warm, blue eyes crinkling at the corners, at that hopeful expression on his face, at those lips which were just inches away from hers, …. and then something about 'having breakfast alone' finally percolated through to her, _so he's on his own is he?_ she thought to herself and he was looking at her with a little boy pout, bottom lip pushed out, eyes wide in imploration and she couldn't help her lips twitching, biting down on her bottom lip to keep from smiling and …

All of a sudden, she got the distinct impression he was about to lean forwards and kiss her and though a part of her wanted to do the same, she instinctively raised her hand to fend him off, taking a small step back …. only he was unexpectedly looking sheepish and slightly embarrassed and mumbling something that sounded like sorry and she decided maybe he wasn't as cocky as she'd thought.

He still looked a little sheepish as he held his hand out and said, "Maybe I should start again. Hi, I'm Rick". There was some surprise, quite a bit of amusement and plenty of curiosity in her as she held out her own hand. What had just happened to the suave playboy? Her curiosity was piqued. She felt her hand engulfed in his large one and wondered inconsequently if those stories of large hands were urban legends or not … then almost smacked herself for letting her thoughts go there. "Hi, I'm Kate" she managed.

He released her hand and waved up the steps asking "Can I tempt you to some freshly made coffee and maybe some fruit, or toast … or a barbequed rib eye steak?" and she had to hold back the giggle at the ridiculousness of his suggestion as she walked up the steps ahead of him and threw "Coffee's fine for the moment, thanks!" over her shoulder. She almost face-palmed herself a second time as she realised what she'd said … well, ok, she had nothing to do for the rest of the day other than keep away from the love shack, but there was no need for the writer to know that. Becoming aware of his eyes on her ass, she added a little sway as she climbed the last few steps, biting her lip in amusement as she heard his intake of breath, then he was up beside her, pulling out a chair and offering it to her.

He poured her a coffee, added some milk and placed it before her before pouring his own and taking the seat next to hers. "Well Kate, welcome to my humble abode … and I hope you'll excuse my somewhat bumbling efforts just now, I wasn't expecting to find such an attractive woman walking past at this time of day" he said raising his cup to her and she didn't miss his eyes suddenly dropping to her hand as she held her cup up. Was that a touch of relief on his face?

"So, what brings you to this beautiful island?" he asked her.

"My friend Maddie has a client who owns a bungalow down the beach a bit," waving her arm in the general direction of the headland, "He offered it to her if she ever wanted to stay … and, well, she asked me along."

"And how come you seem to spend time walking the beach alone, doesn't she like walking?"

Damn! Trust him to pick up on that! "Who says I walk the beach alone?" she quibbled.

"Well, don't get me wrong, I've been here less than twenty-four hours, but I've seen you twice, last night and this morning, and there was no Maddie tagging along … unless she's invisible?" he added hopefully.

She rolled her eyes and didn't miss his grin of appreciation. There was no way she was going to tell him why she was walking the beaches alone, he didn't need to know that. "I like walking, don't get much of a chance normally."

"Oh? What do you do … normally?" the latter added with a wicked grin and she decided not to go there. She hesitated, usually she got three types of reaction to her work; ghoulish curiosity, leery suggestions about uniforms and cuffs or hasty departures. Her bet here was on the second option, and she didn't really want to deal with that. "Is it that bad?" and she realised she was taking too long to give him an answer.

With a shake of her head she said, "I don't think so," looking up from her cup at him and added, "I'm a cop."

Of the reactions she'd been expecting, his awed "Wow!" was not one of them and it made her look even more sharply at him as she tried to get a read on the writer. He was staring at her, eyes wide in surprise, mouth slightly agape, and then her eyebrows crawled up her forehead as his expression went from surprise to admiration. Ok, wait for it she thought.

Instead of the expected innuendo, his reverent "That is sooo cool!" caught her by surprise and she had to do a double take. "It wouldn't happen to be NYPD would it?"

If his reaction to her job was unexpected, his choice of police department stunned her. "How … how did you know?"

"Your accent, its New York … well, tri-state at least … not bridge and tunnel, no trace of the boroughs, probably Manhattan?"

She didn't know whether to be freaked out or not; either he was incredibly creepy or incredibly intuitive and looking at him she opted for the latter, not wanting her favourite author to turn out to be a creep.

"Yeah, I'm NYPD … homicide." She narrowed her eyes as she stared at him, waiting for his reaction and again she was surprised … no, not surprised … almost shocked by his enthusiastic response.

"Oh boy! I can't believe my luck!" Then obviously reading her face correctly he raised two hands in semi-apology, "Sorry, it's just that I think that is so cool! I …. I'm a writer … and, and I just … I was hoping you'd maybe let me pick your brains," then realisation swept across his face, followed by disappointment, "Oh … sorry, I suppose you being on holiday and all, you probably don't want to talk about it?" hope tagged onto the end of the question.

Kate was by now totally confused. She'd been expecting some leery comments, maybe a polite ' _ok, you've had your coffee, now you can go_ ', or at worst, the typical ' _what's the most gruesome body you've come across_ '. Instead the writer seemed to be impressed, almost awed by her job. Not what she'd been expecting at all. She bit her lip as she considered him, he'd said he was a writer and there was no way she was going to let him know how much of a fan she was. The added fact that he seemed to be more intrigued with her job than was usual made her hesitate over her instinctive refusal. Maybe she could have a bit of fun while she decided what to answer.

"You're a writer are you?" and tried to hide her mischievous grin, "What sort of writer, travel books?"

His face was almost comical as he sat back, almost sputtering, then suddenly his eyes narrowed and he sat forward to stare at her, invading her space and making _her_ sit back. Maybe she hadn't been quite as successful at hiding her amusement as she'd thought. Had he guessed she knew who he was? He couldn't have!

"No, I write mystery books," he said, watching her narrowly.

She put on her best cop's face, unimpressed, uninterested. "Oh? Anything I might have read?"

"Storm's Last Stand? Driving Storm? Storm Rising …"

"Are you sure they're mystery novels? Sound more like weather forecasts!" and had great difficulty in not laughing out loud at the almost growl that left his throat.

"Ok, how about In a Hail of Bullets … no? Death of a Prom Queen? Flowers For Your Grave?"

Kate was really struggling to keep a straight face and decided it was maybe time to give him a carrot so she interrupted him with "Oh! That one sounds familiar, though I can't remember much about it."

"Ok, well seeing as my books don't appear to have impressed you, can I at least offer you another coffee?"


	5. Chapter 5 - Fruit

Chapter 5 – Fruit

* * *

His eyes dropped to the hand holding her coffee cup, no rings on her fingers or pale skin where one might have recently rested, then flickered back up to her face … he guessed she was early to mid-thirties, a few fine lines round the eyes, a look of tiredness in her face, but there was also strength and a fine beauty which did all sorts of things to his pulse.

He didn't miss the slight flash of annoyance in her eyes when he asked her why she walked the beach alone and was intrigued. Something there, but it was gone too soon for him to get a read on it. She was slightly defensive as she said "Who says I walk the beach alone?"

He backpedalled a little, went for humour with the bit about her invisible friend and grinned in appreciation as she rolled her eyes. He was dumbfounded when she told him she was a cop and didn't miss her surprise to his reaction. The fact that she was NYPD and in homicide to boot was awesome and he couldn't help his innate curiosity from proposing he pick her brains … then the similarity in their situation struck him. He was here to relax, not talk shop …

"Oh … sorry, I suppose you being on holiday and all, you probably don't want to talk about it?" but he couldn't help the hopeful tone to the question. He was expecting her to shoot him down, he got the impression she didn't suffer fools gladly. Instead she deflected and he was happy to go with it.

"You're a writer are you?" and there was something to the twinkle in her eye and that mesmerising lip biting which warned him there was more to the innocent question than would appear. "What sort of writer, travel books?"

He had a feeling she knew who he was, he couldn't be positive, but there had been a number of tells, her blush when she'd looked up at his invitation, the way she kept throwing slightly awed looks … no, awe wasn't the right word, he doubted she stood in awe of much … no the looks were more of consideration, as if she were comparing him with some mental image.

"No, I write mystery books," he said, deciding to play it up and watching her narrowly. He couldn't tell if she was feigning lack of knowledge or not, her face was inscrutable, eyes glancing down as she took a sip of coffee.

"Oh? Anything I might have read?"

"Storm's Last Stand? Driving Storm? Storm Rising …"

"Are you sure they're mystery novels? Sound more like weather forecasts!"

He was sure now; there was no way she could hide the brimming laughter in her eyes, so he played along, acting the part of the affronted author, adding pout to his voice as he asked, "Ok, how about In a Hail of Bullets … no? Death of a Prom Queen? Flowers For Your Grave?"

She might be keeping a straight face, but her eyes were giving her away and he was convinced she must have an idea of who he was. Maybe she'd heard about him staying here from someone else on the island, might have even recognised him from some news article or TV program … maybe she was a fan and hiding it well, though he admitted to himself that was more wishful thinking than real belief.

"Oh! That one sounds familiar, though I can't remember much about it!"

Her comment made him decide to take a different tack, so he said "Ok, well seeing as my books don't appear to have impressed you, can I at least offer you another coffee?"

She nodded, placing her empty cup on the saucer and setting it on the tray as he stood. "Can I help you?"

He glanced down at her, the morning sun catching the blonde streaks of her hair, the hazel eyes staring up at him and he swore he could see flecks of green swimming in them. Under normal circumstances he'd play the polite host, insisting she stay to enjoy the view, but something about his tawny-eyed guest made him change his mind.

"How about you help me cut up some fresh fruit for breakfast while I get the coffee?" She nodded, pushed her chair back as she stood and followed him into the bungalow. He led the way to the small kitchen, set the tray down on the counter and turned to the bowl full of fresh fruit.

"Any preferences?" he asked and Kate shook her head.

"All looks pretty good, what about you?"

"I like a kiwi, mango, caimito, and star fruit mix … sort of fruit salad but without the syrup."

"Ok," she nodded, "point me to the knife and chopping board … and point out the caimito to me … never seen one" she grinned up at him and it took him a couple of seconds before he could take a deep breath and get his mind back on track, resisting the urge to pull her up against him and taste those smiling lips was taking major effort.

He turned, slightly lost as he tried to think … oh! Right! … he pulled out the chopping board from behind the sink, set it down on the top and grabbed a knife and a teaspoon from the drawer. Next he hunted around for and found the peeler in another drawer and grabbed a couple of largish glass bowls from one of the cupboards over the cooker. Placing everything on the counter, he lifted a caimito from the bowl and showed it to her saying "Just cut it in half and scoop out the soft flesh with a spoon, leave the seeds and core" slicing the fruit and showing her before adding, "I think it's also called a star apple, but here they call them caimitos," holding out the spoon to her so that she could taste a bit. He grinned as she took the proffered purple coloured flesh and tasted it, eyebrows rising in surprise.

"Wow! That's … its sweet, but hmm, refreshing … ok, so one of these, a mango, a kiwi and star fruit?"

"Or whatever you fancy" he said, waving to the bowl and stepping aside to begin getting the coffee ready. He was inescapably aware of her standing next to him in the small kitchenette as she began to peel and chop up the fruit. He was taking his time over the preparation, tamping the ground beans down into the filter and enjoying the scent of coffee mixed with … cherries? He caught the glance she threw him and it jolted him back into action, slipping the top onto the filter before screwing the upper half of the pot back on.

He turned on the gas, twisting sideways slightly to trigger the lighter over the ring, and felt his hip brush against hers. He stood stock still, eyes staring at the bright blue flames, ears attuned to the sudden pause in chopping, waited for her to make a comment, step away … then the chopping resumed and he straightened up, threw a sideways glance at her but could tell nothing, her head was bowed as she concentrated on slicing the starfruit, but she hadn't moved away and he allowed a small sigh of relief to escape him.

He shook his head. This was not how supercool Castle behaved around women. He was respectful, yes, but he was also playful, confident and quite happy to lead the lady in question to the nearest bedroom, bathroom, broom closet or anywhere that offered sufficient privacy. He did not walk around as if stepping on egg shells. Nor was he reluctant to push the boundaries; if the answer was no, then he was quite happy to talk about something else before moving on to the next lady in line.

Nevertheless, something about the barefooted stranger standing next to him, the top of her head almost brushing his shoulder, was making him behave like an inexperienced teen. He was really going to have to up his game here, because she was totally intriguing for at least a dozen reasons and he did not want her walking out of his life just yet.

The sound of chopping coming to stop interrupted his inner conversation and he not only became aware of the gurgling coffee in front of him, he also became aware of the curious look she was throwing his way as she scooped the fruit into the bowls.

"Sorry, daydreaming!" he offered her with an apologetic smile and turned the gas off before placing the pot back on the tray. He handed her a couple of spoons for the bowls and rinsed both cups before replacing them on the saucers. Quickly he rinsed the board, knife and peeler saying "Leave any of this lying around for five minutes and you've got The Naked Jungle"

"Really, you're going with that? And who's your mail-order-bride?" hands on hip and eyebrow arched. His smile became a big grin as he looked at her, inordinately pleased at how she'd picked up on the old film reference, though he _had_ been thinking about ants, not brides.

"I don't know, any suggestions?" waggling his eyebrows at her

"Not off the top of my head," patently pretending to ignore the innuendo, though the slight tinge of pink on her cheeks gave the lie. Trying for casualness, she asked "All set?"

Castle nodded, picked up the tray and followed her back out onto the deck.

* * *

 _ **AN: Very much appreciate all the reviews and favs/follows as always! You guys are awesome. Will get round to answering each one when I can faind a couple of free days to do so. :)**_


	6. Chapter 6 - Revelations

Chapter 6 – Revelations

* * *

His offer of another coffee was more than welcome. It wasn't just that the coffee was pretty good, nor that during the last twenty minutes she'd only thought of Maddie the once, when Dumbo here had brought it up, but she _had_ actually enjoyed the bantering conversation. She was still struggling to equate this version of the writer with her concept of Richard Castle as gleaned from The Ledger's page six Cornucopia of Castle Facts.

Nodding, she placed her cup and saucer back on the tray as he stood up, and then asked if she could help him. Kate thought he was about to say no … when something made him change his mind and she was quite happy to follow him in to the bungalow when he suggested she help him cut up some fruit for breakfast.

She glanced around as they entered the bungalow and took in the square room, seating area to her left with comfy looking rattan couch, coffee table, a couple of seats and the large plate glass window overlooking the beach. To her right was a small dining table with four chairs pushed in beneath it, a cabinet against the wall probably holding all the tableware. The back of the room had a closed door to the side, shelves holding an amalgam of items from books, to seashells, to candlesticks and vases covering the left half of the back wall and a kitchenette slotted into the other half. It wasn't that much different to the one she and Maddie were sharing and she guessed the door on the left led to the bedrooms and bathroom beyond. He led the way to the small kitchen, set the tray down on the counter and pointed to the bowl full of fresh fruit on the end.

"Any preferences?" he asked and she shook her head, eyebrows slightly raised as she stared at the large amount of fruit pyramided in the bowl.

"All looks pretty good, what about you?"

"I like a kiwi, mango, caimito, and star fruit mix … sort of fruit salad but without the syrup."

"Ok," she nodded, "point me to the knife and chopping board … and point out the caimito to me … never seen one" she grinned up at him and then raised an enquiring eyebrow as he just stood there staring back at her. She was about to clear her throat when he seemed to shake himself and began turning his head as if trying to remember what he was looking for. She bit her lip in amusement, attempting to keep the laughter in and wondering if this was the real Richard Castle, or just the early morning, jet-lagged version of him.

He set out the chopping board, knife, teaspoon, peeler and a couple of glass bowls on the counter for her and then picked out a purple-skinned fruit she'd never seen before from the bowl and sliced it in half as he explained how to prepare it to her. His voice reminded her of warm summer evenings and then he was holding out the spoon to her so she could taste the caimito. Unthinkingly she leant forward and took the spoon in her mouth, almost choking as she saw him grin and realising she would have been better off to have taken the spoon from him first … then the refreshingly sweet taste hit her buds and she hummed in appreciation.

She picked out a couple more caimitos and began to slice and scoop the flesh into the bowls, piling discarded seeds and skin to one side. She was aware of him standing less than a foot away as he unscrewed the top of the coffee pot and the sudden realisation that she was preparing breakfast with Richard Castle almost made her catch her breath. She squeezed her eyes closed for a second, took a slow, silent, deep lungful of air and started on the mango. She kept throwing sideways glances at him, through the curtain of her hair, watching him as he tamped home the coffee grounds. Her next glance caught him staring at her, cerulean eyes wide, fingers stilled round the filter and as she turned her head to look at him inquiringly he suddenly ducked his, grabbing the top of the filter and Kate had to hide a grin, it seemed, for some strange reason she couldn't quite fathom, that she wasn't the only one affected by their close proximity … but surely _he_ could be a bit more suave about it than her? After all, she was just a Big Apple Detective; _he_ was supposed to be the sophisticated playboy round here.

Her slicing of the starfruit came to an abrupt stop as she felt his hip brush against hers, felt him freeze in place even as her skin tingled at the contact. Her summer dress and his shorts were hardly thick enough to minimise the heat she could feel where their hips were inexplicably joined. Unfortunately the contact had her picturing the rest of the contents of those blue shorts and a sudden flush of heat developed in her chest, shot up her neck and tinged her cheeks, the heat in her face overshadowing that at her hip. She swallowed, dropped her head forwards so he wouldn't be able to see her face and resumed slicing the fruit, her rather unsteady hand making a more than imperfect slice.

It seemed ages before he moved, straightening up and she could feel him looking at her, but there was no way she was going to let him get a glimpse of her face, not at least until she could assume her cheeks were no longer giving her away. Oh shit! That sigh of relief he'd just exhaled did nothing to calm her down!

She finished peeling and slicing the kiwis in silence, aware of him standing tall beside her, and she really wished she had her heels with her, barefooted as she was, every time her eyes wandered sideways she became aware of his shoulder just a few inches away, of the shirt hanging open and his arm almost brushing hers. It really wasn't fair! How the hell was she supposed to concentrate when they were standing so close together!

Her movement as she scooped the fruit into the bowls seemed to drag the writer out of whatever reverie he'd been in, and he threw her a guilty look which partly amused, partly intrigued her. She was wondering what was keeping him so quiet when he said, "Sorry, daydreaming!" and then he was moving around her, turning the gas off and placing the gurgling coffee pot back on the tray. He handed her a couple of spoons and then began rinsing the board and knife adding, "Leave any of this lying around for five minutes and you've got The Naked Jungle"

It took her a few seconds to place the reference, suddenly remembering the old fifties film with Charlton Heston and Eleanor Parker, one she'd watched a couple of times with her parents back in the day and again with Lanie on one of their girls nights; the TNT channel had supplied them with plenty of golden oldies. A further recollection of how the film began, had her biting her lip in amusement and she couldn't help turning to face him, hands on hip and playfully asking "Really, you're going with that? And who's your mail-order-bride?"

She'd expected him to be embarrassed, given his far from sophisticated performance so far, but he surprised her by saying, "I don't know, any suggestions?" and waggling his eyebrows suggestively at her.

Pretending to ignore the innuendo, and hoping her face wasn't giving her away, she went with "Not off the top of my head," and trying for casualness, asked "All set?"

Castle nodded, his grin telling her he was quite aware of her discomfort and then he picked up the tray and followed her back out onto the deck. By now the sun was well above the horizon, the heat beginning to build. She started to set out the bowls and coffee cups as he moved to the large umbrella and began to turn the crank handle, the white canvas opening up and spreading wide above them.

They sat down and he poured their coffees, adding milk to hers and handing it to her with a smile. She turned her head to look out at the view, noticed how the light bouncing off the blue sea tinted the white canvas above them. The rustling palm fronds, the rhythmic swish of gentle waves breaking on the beach and the muted sound of the generator running somewhere round the back of the bungalow were the only sounds to disturb the quietness.

She loved New York. Loved the hustle, the noise, the people. But for now, this peace and quiet fed her soul in ways the city couldn't. Her train of thought was interrupted by his "Penny for them?"

She shook her head to clear her mind, turned to pick up the spoon and said, "Was just enjoying the view and the lack of traffic."

He nodded in understanding, hummed in agreement and added, "I try to make it out here once a year, spend a month unwinding, away from all the glitz and glam and crap that goes on around me most of the time."

She was startled by the revelation, "Really?"

He looked a bit sheepishly at her, "Oh, don't get me wrong, I love what I do, the life I have, but this time of year, the endless functions, the book tours, the interviews … I end up with lockjaw from having to smile all the time. Add the two witches into the mix and I'm telling you, one month is barely enough! I just wish my daughter was out here as well, that would make it just perfect!"

Kate stared at him, lips parted in surprise, spoon paused halfway between bowl and mouth.


End file.
